


When We Collide We Come Together

by shoulderbladesarewings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gryffindor Harry, Hogwarts AU, Hufflepuff Niall, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Ravenclaw Zayn, Slytherin Louis, and the golden trio aren't major characters but they're at school at the same time, but mostly it's friend fluff - love and stuff comes later, there are some brief mentions of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoulderbladesarewings/pseuds/shoulderbladesarewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis's a half-blood (his father was a death-eater) and as soon as he sets foot in Hogwarts he's put in Slytherin. In the wizarding world, that's enough to make everybody give up on you. Except Harry never does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year One

They met on the train. Louis confidently proclaimed that every other carriage had been full, but that was a lie: the problem had simply been that none of the other carriages contained a small curly-haired boy with a sweet, soft mouth and green eyes that glimmered like the sequins Louis’s Muggle mother had scattered in his bag that morning _to make you even more magic._

   Fireworks were not involved in that first meeting. Or sparks (Louis figured that accidently setting his shirt sleeve on fire trying to show off a spell didn’t count). Looking back now it’s funny thinking that there weren’t, never mind that they were only eleven years old. Far too young to fall in love. And so they didn’t. But they hit it off wonderfully, and soon Louis had those green eyes shining with mirth as he attempted to act out the entirety of _Grease_ to Harry who, despite being Muggle-born, had never seen it.

   He was halfway through Act 2 when company arrived in the form of a wry-eyed Asian boy in a leather jacket, flanked by a baby-faced blonde in downplayed plaid and denim. Zayn and Niall.

   Later Louis would learn that Zayn came from old cold blood: the kind of family that still carried a snake on their crest in deference to Salazar, too proud to admit to the negative connotations of the symbol even though they’d refused to join He Who Must Not Be Named back in the dark times and rejoiced with everybody else when he’d been destroyed. It was where Zayn got his haughty poise, and the slight sneer permanently etched into the corner of his mouth. But it turned out that when you got him seated and stuffed him with a few Chocolate Frogs he was just as willing to laugh along with Harry and Louis as Niall, whose parents owned an independent pub in the working-class end of Northern Ireland.

   Harry had already told Louis his background; he’d been born to a doctor and a lawyer in Cheshire, whom he apparently loved almost as much as his two cats, Molly and Dusty. _I’m not very interesting,_ he’d admitted subsequently, drooping slightly. Louis had promptly pulled him into a tickle fight.

   Louis was a different story to all of them, though, and it would turn out to be a long time before they pulled his story from him, over three years later in fact, when they would try their first few swigs of Firewhisky courtesy of Liam Payne, a lad in the year above with some very irresponsible friends.

   But we do not have that kind of time right now and so I shall tell you that his father had been a pure-blooded Death Eater descendent of the Blacks who’d forced himself upon Louis’s mother with a binding curse one night when she was seventeen, after killing her boyfriend with a burst of green light. Upon seeing his genes had taken hold of her insides he spared her, rather liking the idea of a child to carry on his twisted misdeeds. But He Who Must Not Be Named had vanished before he could return to claim his son, and so Louis had grown up in Doncaster with his mother and the family she came to form, completely unaware of his heritage until his letter had arrived from Hogwarts.

   It had been the best and the worst day of his life. The best because finally, _finally_ here was proof positive that he was special; that he was unique; that he wasn’t, as his Geography teacher had so delighted in telling him, _a waste of space._ He was bloody _magic_ and that had to count for something. It had to.

   The worst because he’d gone running to his mother and excitedly told her that now she _had_ to tell him who his father was because surely he’d want to find Louis now; surely he’d want Louis to know where he got his wizarding blood from.

   She hadn’t told him all the detail, of course. She’d hardly known any of it, only what had happened to her. But Louis had pored over a couple of history books since and pieced the situation together from dates and accounts and Latin incantations. He knew exactly where he came from now and it made him sick to his stomach. For a time he’d refused point blank to even accept his offer at Hogwarts, vowing to live as a Muggle for the rest of his life. But after an incident with a school bully, a screen door and a dizzying amount of blood, he’d realised that it was his responsibility to let those of his kind teach him how to control his gift. Or he’d end up just as evil as the man whose blood now boiled and burned in his veins like liquid lava, sometimes consuming him so completely that all he could see for a while was blackness.

   Louis tried hard not to hate. But he couldn’t help it. He hated his father. He hated himself. And, most horrifying of all, he hated what he knew everyone would call him in this new world; hated the technical term for his manner of breeding and the mixture of nobility and normality that made him who he was; hated the word _half-blood._

   But for those few hours he tried not to let that matter, and for the first time in months it almost worked. Despite the lack of heat there was something about Harry that had him hooked, entranced, with no room in his head for anything else, and God but it was addictive. He couldn’t stop staring at him, and he was sure all three of the boys noticed but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Louis didn’t deal in denial. He was the type who never accepted anything less than instant gratification.

   Odd really, how he’d never have guessed back then that that was the only trait he was displaying so far that showed any sign of his father.

   That and his clear, piercing blue eyes.

 

*

Harry Potter was sitting on the stool in the Main Hall with the Sorting Hat falling over his tightly-closed eyes.

   Not all events in this story, of course, will be dictated by when and where Harry Potter was doing whatever he’d been doing over the course of Louis’s school life. It just so happened that he was watching the Boy Who Lived being sorted when Harry Styles – _the_ real _Harry_ he’d insisted when on the train the conversation had inevitably turned to the notorious kid with the lightning scar – poked him in the back and muttered _I didn’t know this was going to happen._

_What are you talking about?_ Louis hissed back. _It’s just Sorting – didn’t you have Houses at school?_

_Yeah but they were random. This looks…really serious._

_That’s because it is,_ the ginger boy who’d been clinging to Potter outside the hall replied, looking a little green. _All my family have been in Gryffindor so far. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do if I don’t get in._

Harry was as white as a sheet. _Are some better than the others?_

_Of course,_ Ginger replied. _I mean, if I got put in Slytherin I’d probably just leave._ His face turned glum. _I guess I could just about handle Hufflepuff._

_Niall got Hufflepuff didn’t he?_ Harry murmured to Louis. _That wouldn’t be so bad._

_Relax, would you?_ Louis’s heart was starting to pound uncomfortably hard but he wanted to reassure his new friend. _They can’t just decide whether you’re inferior or not the second you walk in. It’s probably pretty random._

_Nah, mate,_ Ginger cut in (and Louis was starting to get really irritated at this point, couldn’t he see they’d been having a private conversation?). _If you’re brave you get Gryffindor. If you’re smart you get Ravenclaw. The leftovers go to Hufflepuff._

Harry frowned. _And Slytherin?_

Ginger lowered his voice dramatically, and Louis rolled his eyes equally dramatically. _There’s not a dark wizard alive who wasn’t in Slytherin._

   Despite himself, a shiver went down Louis’s spine. But he ignored it, shifting slightly so he was between Harry and Ginger. _Shut it, you’re scaring him._

_’M not scared,_ Harry mumbled, even though Louis could _feel_ him shaking. _’M fine._

   _GRYFFINDOR!_ The hat suddenly bellowed, making both of them nearly jump out of their skin, and Ginger whooped in time with the rest of the hall as Harry Potter stepped off the stool with a massive grin all over his face.

   _See?_ Ginger shot at Louis, as if his point had been proven. _Harry Potter got Gryffindor. It’s obviously the best house._

Louis didn’t deign to respond. But Ginger had gotten to him more than he let on, even as he found Harry’s hand beneath his robes and gave it a squeeze – and when his new friend was declared the newest member of Gryffindor he cheered so loudly he thought his throat might crack.

   When it was his turn he tried not to let it show how hard his heart was still beating.

   The Sorting Hat didn’t hesitate. Not even a beat went by before Louis was deafened by a roar of _SLYTHERIN!_

   His heart stopped at the same time as the clock did. In the split-second when the world was no longer revolving, standing stock-still on its axis and politely waiting for Louis to remember Ginger’s words – _there’s not a dark wizard alive who wasn’t in Slytherin –_ he caught Harry’s eye, saw the look of shock and…no it couldn’t be fear…on his face.

   All through dinner he tried to seek him out with his eyes although their tables were at opposite ends of the hall, but with no luck. He could already see very clearly that standing up to find someone in another house was not an act to be encouraged, although he saw the occasional enchanted paper aeroplane darting between tables. Even then, however, they were never sent to, or from, the Slytherin table. They were completely isolated, a sea of bowed heads and quiet chatter, set as far apart from the raucous laughter and exclamations from the other houses as to be an island of their own.

   No one spoke to Louis that night, and he didn’t see Harry again for a week.

   When he did it was in Potions class, and they did no more than nod. When Quidditch practise for first-years started they were given another opportunity to talk, but again they didn’t take it. Harry had already found himself a gaggle of friends – not, Louis couldn’t help noting, Harry Potter and his best buddy Ginger – and Louis…well, he hadn’t. It is difficult to explain, and so we shall explore it another time. Suffice it to say that for a good three months he felt incredibly alone. He had Transfiguration with Zayn’s house and Defence Against The Dark Arts with Niall’s but he didn’t speak to them either. Niall too had his own clique and Zayn looked far too intimidating, always unswervingly focused on his work. Louis whiled away his free time writing letters to his mother, only half of which he sent lest he worry or annoy her. She always wrote back immediately, often sending chocolate which Louis tended to throw away. Misery always made him feel oddly bloated, even as he felt himself lose weight.

   It is a strange and terrible thing, how difficult it is to break the cycle of loneliness. Louis had never been lonely in his life and now he simply had no idea how not to be. Lethargy set in alarmingly soon, so he couldn’t even be bothered to try. Perhaps it was partly just homesickness. Perhaps he was still recovering from his knowledge of his father. Perhaps everybody has to go through a stage in their life where they have no one to live for, to show them how strong they truly are on their own.

   At any rate, do not worry. Luckily, it was not to last.

 

*

Louis’s mother had never been very good at organising Christmas. She tried, every year she went hell for leather buying metres of tinsel and ribbon, shopping carts full of food and yards of string and Sellotape in case of disasters – but inevitably the tinsel would tangle; the ribbons would fray; the food would burn while they were decorating the Christmas tree, which would have already started to shed its pine needles because they’d bought it too early, and no amount of tape or string could prevent the eventual unanimous decision to order pizza and just sit and eat in their own glittering mess.

   This was not, of course, the reason that Louis had decided not to go home for Christmas. Not exactly. He’d just been suspecting more and more lately that the reason everything tended to go wrong for his family was because of his own excitement: the teachers had explained that at such a young age magic was particularly hard to control in the face of strong emotion. Louis wanted to give his mother at least one chance to create her perfect day without him ruining it so he told her that most of his friends were staying behind and he wanted to keep them company. She'd seemed sad when she'd written back – but still filled three pages gushing about her preparations.

   There was one line that had gotten to him though: _It won’t be perfect without you, love._

   But if it wouldn’t be a complete disaster, he reminded himself, it would be worth it.

   And so he woke on Christmas day to an empty dormitory, torrential rain and a small pile of presents that he left untouched, crying half-heartedly for a little while before padding up the staircase in his pyjamas to the teachers’ dining room, where he’d been told meals would be held while the majority of the school was absent.

   It is a testament to mercy that Louis saw Harry before he saw a clutch of Slytherin boys sitting at the other end of the single table, who would have gladly invited him to sit with them and proceeded to corrupt him inside out. It might as well be said now that Louis’s sharp blue eyes were far more distinguishable than he’d ever have guessed: their icy clearness marked him as a descendent of a pureblood family even more than his awe at moving paintings signalled him as Muggle-raised. Those eyes could have opened any amount of doors for him among the Slytherins – even Draco Malfoy (although the name meant nothing to Louis at the time) would have let him into his elitist, tightly-knitted crew without hesitation. You see, the sons of the Death Eaters knew how Louis had been conceived; knew and were in awe of it. They saw Louis’s mother as a vessel for Louis’s father’s legacy, and were even willing to overlook that some of her DNA tainted his body. As far as they were concerned, Louis was legitimate, pure-blooded royalty. If he had sat with those boys that day, the odds are that they would have convinced him of it too.

   No one is born evil. That is not the thing to fear in this world. The thing to fear is how easily it can be taught.

   But Louis didn’t see them. He was too blinded by Harry’s genuine, beautiful beam. _Louis! You’re here!_

    _Yeah,_ Louis mumbled, shuffling awkwardly toward him. _Umm. Hi._

   _How have you been?_ Harry asked happily, pushing a plate of toast and marmalade at him as he sat.

   Louis picked up a piece and started to pull it apart, his appetite shot to pieces by Harry’s startling 180. _Fine. You?_

_Hey._ Tentatively, Harry draped his arm across his shoulders. _You sure? You’ve seemed kind of…I don’t know, distant?_

   _Me?_ Louis retorted, trying and failing to sound light. His eyes were stinging slightly. Harry wasn’t really going to try to pin their separation on him was he? _You’re the one who hasn’t been talking to me._

   _What? Oh Lou, no. I mean…I thought you wouldn’t…want to talk to me anymore. Because…_

_I’m in Slytherin,_ Louis finished for him.

   Harry hugged him properly. _I’m sorry, mate. Everybody says Slytherins are bad news and you shouldn’t bug them if you don’t want your eye out. I just…didn’t know._

   After a minute, Louis relaxed into the embrace, and Harry’s sweet, apple-shampoo smell. Warmth. Affection. Contact. You can’t know how much you’ve missed it until you’re drowning in it again. _Well I did want to talk to you. A lot. You have no idea…_ But he stopped himself. Harry wouldn’t want to know about how miserable he’d been, and how he felt his housemates’ eyes on him everywhere he went, and how the Slytherin common room was underground and looked and felt like the inside of a sewer.

   When he didn’t continue, Harry just gave his neck a quick nuzzle before letting go. _Well. Let’s…talk, then. Anytime you want. Including but not limited to now._

   Louis grinned a little. _OK. We’ll talk._

   So they talked. Harry told Louis that his mother was on her honeymoon and had bribed him to stay in school just this once. Harry told Louis that he loved Quidditch and hated History of Magic. Harry told Louis that he looked pretty in his pyjamas because _red is really your colour._

   Louis told Harry very little in comparison. But he did tell him that his new green sweater did wonders for his eyes. _Not that they’re not…you know…already._

   _Funny,_ Harry remarked. _How you look good in red and I look good in green. It’s kind of like we go together._

_Yeah, but we don’t,_ Louis reminded him, as playfully as he could. _You’re in Gryffindor. You guys are, like, the school heroes._

_You guys always win the House Cup,_ Harry pointed out.

   _Yeah, because we’re sycophants._ Louis had very quickly picked up on the smarminess of the Slytherins. They flirted shamelessly with the teachers, purring compliments and dousing them with syrup-sticky synthetic respect, and were showered with House points for their trouble. It was very easy to see why they always ended up with the most.

_You’re not._

_I don’t think my individual personality counts for anything now, Haz,_ Louis sighed. _I’m in Slytherin. Therefore their qualities apply to me._

_That’s stupid,_ Harry said decisively. _I don’t care if you’re in Slytherin. You’re still Lou. And you’re my friend._

   An odd pain shot through Louis’s chest. It was gone in an instant but it left trepidation behind. It was a pang of foreboding. But for Harry’s sake, he hid it. He never wanted him to think he didn’t want to talk to him again. _That’s cool. You’re my friend too._

 

*

So from then on, Harry and Louis were friends. And they weren’t subtle about it either. They took shifts sharing each other’s seats at the House tables; they grabbed each other for partners in every Potions class; they went on walks around the grounds during their free time with their owls on their elbows, Louis wearing Harry’s scarf and vice versa because they liked the way they looked in each other’s colours.

   People talked, of course they did. Even the teachers gave them funny looks, and people like Snape and McGonagall insisted they wear their own clothes so as not to cause confusion.

   Dumbledore smiled at them once, though. And after that Louis guessed he must have sent a memo around or whatever wizards did because they weren’t bothered again by members of the staff. Just their housemates.

   But even that wasn’t too extreme, back then. A bit of ribbing from Harry’s Gryffindor pals and some sneers from the Slytherins. At some point Draco Malfoy cornered Louis in an empty corridor and said _Look Tomlinson, if you ever want to make any important friends around here, you’ve gotta stop being seen with that Styles kid. All the Gryffindors are just arrogant, lazy thugs. You’re better than that._

   Louis had looked him right in the eyes – blue, the same shade as his – and said _Shove off._

   They reconnected with Zayn and Niall as well, finding them one day at a Quidditch match and making sure to organise another meeting, and then another, until they were hanging out regularly between classes while the rest of the first-years congregated in their segregated common rooms. Mostly they managed to find an abandoned classroom, but the get-together would inevitably end when they were chased out by Filch and Mrs Norris. Seven years later, Harry would still bear a scar on the back of his hand from when he tried to pet her. The slap upside the head from Filch for his trouble, on the other hand, only made his head ring for a week.

   It didn’t take Louis long to fall in love with his new friends. Which was odd because trust had never come easily to him, even when he was a child. His mother often told him fondly how heartily he’d screamed when strangers picked him up. But Harry, Niall and Zayn were the gentlest souls Louis had ever encountered, with vastly different personalities but hearts of gold all round, and he was enamoured with how effortlessly he could make them laugh. He could have Harry and Niall in particular howling for hours just by capering around and spouting gibberish. Zayn was slightly harder work but soon enough a smile would develop into a grin and a grin would become a chuckle and a chuckle would become laughter until he was holding his sides. It was amazing.

   Louis missed them every moment he wasn’t with them, but that wasn’t nearly often enough for Hogwarts to be unbearable. He was good at the subjects, shining especially in Defence Against the Dark Arts, with Professor Quirrell often stuttering out ‘W-well d-done Mr. T-T-Tomlinson’ for a spell well cast.

   One way or another, from then on the year rushed by in a blur, and all too soon they were in the entire school was seated in the main hall, bedecked in green banners, Slytherin smirking smugly and the other three houses sullen-faced, waiting for the announcement of the inevitable winner of the House Cup.

   Except for Louis, Harry, Niall and Zayn, who were hiding out in the dilapidated toilets where rumour had it Harry Potter had felled a full-grown troll on Halloween, unwilling yet to say goodbye and sit at separate tables for the last hours they had together.

   Harry was in the process of giving them all massive, half-tearful hugs. _‘Promise_ you’ll write? Zayn, I don’t have an owl but if I send letters via Lou you’ll respond, right? Ugh, Niall why do you have to live in _Ireland?’_

   Niall punched him amiably in the arm. ‘Because it’s the best country in the world, mate. Anyway it’s eight weeks; I’m sure you’ll survive.’

   Louis put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him close so that his curly hair tickled the outside of his nose. ‘Ignore him, Hazza. _I’ll_ write, and you just send me anything you want to give to Zayn and I’ll bombard him with it.’

   ‘My brother comes of age this year,’ Zayn said calmly. ‘And he could easily hex you from our house.’

   ‘So whereabouts do you live, Your Highness?’

   He shook his head. ‘I’m not allowed to say. My family are under the protection of the Ministry because of our…affiliation with He Who Must Not Be Named. If the lower-born of the wizarding world knew of it, they would most likely make us scapegoats for all those that he murdered. And if a Death Eater were to escape and find us, we would be punished for not suffering alongside them when he fell.’

   Louis swore he felt a shiver run down his spine. ‘Well aren’t you a delight, Malik?’

   He shrugged, unaffected. ‘Just telling you why you can’t know where we live.’

   ‘What’s a Death Eater?’ Harry asked.

   Louis’s stomach turned cold at the words in the sweet, innocent boy’s mouth.

   ‘Supporters,’ Zayn said flatly, ‘of He Who Must Not Be Named.’

   Harry nodded studiously. From whispers about Harry Potter and a few allusions to him in various lessons, they all knew at least vaguely who Voldemort was. ‘Where are they now?’

   ‘Askaban,’ Louis answered automatically, his teeth clenched. ‘Where they fucking belong.’

   Zayn gave him a strange look. ‘How do you know? I thought you were Muggleborn.’

   ‘I read, Zayn,’ Louis said as lightly as he could, flicking the other boy’s forehead. ‘I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart?’

   A bell suddenly rang throughout the room, startling them, and Dumbledore’s disembodied voice announced _To all first-years who may or may not be skulking around out-of-order bathrooms, it is time for bed. Fortune befits the rested._

   They all shuffled guiltily, as if his eyes were on them.

   ‘Well,’ Zayn declared awkwardly. ‘If I…don’t see you guys tomorrow, have a good holiday.’

   Spontaneously, Louis hugged him too. To his surprise, Zayn gripped him back just as tight. Louis hugged Niall as well and then the pair of them ran off, leaving him alone with Harry.

   Harry made the first move, throwing his arms around his neck. They hugged for a stupidly long time, Louis’s heart talking his head out of it every time he thought it might be time to let go.

   ‘Sorry,’ Harry mumbled, muffled by Louis’s shoulder. ‘About…before Christmas, I should have –’

   ‘It’s not your fault,’ Louis told him firmly. ‘Besides, everything worked out.’

   ‘I’ll miss you,’ Harry said, and it sounded strangely like a confession, where with the others it had only been a dramatic declaration of self-pity.

   ‘I’ll miss you too,’ Louis replied quietly, the words a lead weight on his tongue.

   Soon after that, they broke apart, and walked out of the bathroom.

   On the way back they were accosted by a clan of first-year Slytherins, furious that Dumbledore had cheated them out of their house’s victory for the sake of Harry Potter and a handful of his misfit friends. They turned their anger on Harry, pushing him against the wall and holding their palm against his neck until he choked. When Louis tried to push them back they shoved him to the ground with a foot over his face to keep him from getting up.

   Luckily some seventh-year Hufflepuffs stumbled across the scene, but with all the fuss of getting the boys to Madame Pomfrey and then escorting them safely back to their common rooms, that was the last time Louis saw Harry before he boarded the train the next day, and although he’d meant to find his carriage and sit with him, he realised that he didn’t have the guts. What made him any more trustworthy than those boys who had tried to strangle his best friend for wearing the colours of their rivals? What made him any better than any other Slytherin?


	2. Year Four - The Yule Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long! I wasn't sure where I was going with it but I've sorted myself out now and so hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly. Hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter Four – The Yule Ball**

‘LOUIS!’

   Harry Styles’ long frame smacks Louis square in the chest as he flings his skinny arms around his neck.

   ‘Hey,’ he hears a slightly calmer voice say, and he props his chin up on Harry’s head, as he’s become accustomed to doing, to see Zayn, a wry grin on his pretty face.

   When Harry eventually breaks away, Louis and Zayn bump fists, and then Louis gives Harry’s hand a small squeeze and smiles at him, trying as always not to let the enormity of his affection for the boy filter out of his eyes.

   He has a feeling he fails, especially if Zayn’s smirk is anything to go by. ‘C’mon, losers. Niall’s already on the train.’

   It is Louis Tomlinson’s fourth year at Hogwarts. If he’s honest with himself, not a great deal has changed since the first. The extent of his social life is still concentrated almost completely in his three best friends (four, counting Liam), and he’s still self-conscious about his status as a Slytherin.

   And his friends still apparently couldn’t give two fucks.

   ‘Could you guys _please_ win the House Cup back this year?’ Harry begs. ‘I’m so sick of Potter and his smug friends every time Dumbledore gives it to us – to _him,_ I should say.’

   Niall punches him amiably. ‘You couldn’t wish it on one of us non-sociopathic houses instead?’

   ‘I’m backing the people who actually _have_ a chance in hell –’

   Niall jumps on him, and they wrestle playfully while Zayn rolls his eyes at Louis, asking the question he asks every year in a tone of mock-sincerity only exacerbated by his smirk. ‘So, any dark forces taking you over yet, mate?’

   ‘I might ask you the same question, cold blood,’ Louis retorts, kicking his ankle.

      Zayn sticks out his tongue in that odd, endearing way he has that makes his entire face go slack. ‘Cold blood’ is a term Zayn invented specifically for himself in 2nd year, when Harry became upset at stray Slytherins hissing _Mudblood_ at him in the corridors. Zayn encourages the use of the fake-slur, and death-glares – or, more recently, mercilessly hexes – anyone who dares call Harry the real one.

Harry surfaces, reclaiming his spot by Louis’s side and casually draping his legs over his lap.

   Louis can’t pinpoint exactly when this stopped feeling like a violation of his personal space, but he does know that all it was now is warm, and comfortable, and safe.

   Harry hasn’t changed much either – same deep dimples, same curly hair, same sparkly eyes – but his voice is deeper, and slower, and his smile is lazier, less desperate to please and more assured.

   Louis likes that, that Harry’s at home in his own skin.

   He envies it too.

   As for Louis, his face has gotten thinner but there’s not much else to report. He’s still ice-blue-eyed; still small for his age; still not quite able to comprehend the magic in his veins. He nearly got expelled the summer before second year when he accidentally blasted a bully away from him with the force of a torpedo and he cracked his head on a swing. Luckily the damage was minor, and the wizarding authorities wrote it off as self-defence.

   He can control himself now, just about.

   Although when he looks at Harry he has to fight not to make a flower crown materialise in his soft, chestnut hair.

   Harry came out as bisexual last year (seemingly inadvertently, in an argument with Louis about whether Professor Lupin gave off ‘gay vibes’). So. There’s that. But Louis’s never considered following his lead. _He_ can’t like boys. Yes he cuddles up to Harry when he’s sleep, and trips over his own feet to make him smile, but that doesn’t mean anything.

   Zayn thinks it does. He never says as much but it’s there in his eyes whenever Louis yells a joke too loudly or drapes himself over Harry’s torso on the pretext of reaching for a glass: a glint that indicates knowledge of Louis that he himself doesn’t yet possess. Far more worryingly, even Niall’s starting to shoot the pair sly grins and make the odd innuendo. And when you’re being too obvious for Niall to ignore, there is definitely a problem.

   ‘Tomlinson!’

   Zayn stiffens, Niall jumps a mile, and Louis automatically shoves Harry’s legs off of his as one of his Slytherin sort-of-but-not-really-mates, Toby, pokes his head around the door. Harry gives Louis a hurt look, folds his arms, but says nothing.

   Toby gives the others a glance. ‘What are you doing with these wankers; come and sit in our compartment! Bradley’s parents taught him this insane hex, you’re gonna love it –’

   ‘Whatever it is, I probably already know it,’ Zayn deadpans, in his best Ravenclaw tone of self-important intelligence. ‘Now would you mind leaving? Your presence is lowering the IQ of everyone in the room.’

   Grinning gleefully inside, Louis gives Toby an apologetic look, all his acting skills forced into his face. ‘Sorry mate. Maybe I’ll see you at dinner.’

   ‘Mublood lover,’ Toby mutters sullenly.

   Before Harry, Niall or Louis can even react Zayn’s hand is on his wand. _‘Entomorphis!’_

   Feelers sprout from Toby’s forehead as his eyes suddenly bug out of his head – but before they can witness any more of the effects from the hex Niall kicks the door shut in the boy’s face, calmly adding ‘Fecking twat.’

   Harry doesn’t say anything. He’s staring out the window, arms still folded.

   Louis nudges him gently. ‘Haz? I’m so sorry –’

   He shakes him off.

   This is the hard part of their friendship. The part where Louis has to apologise for the actions of people he has no control over, and yet somehow always ends up taking responsibility for simply because they wear the same colours.

   He knows it’s far more difficult for Harry, who actually has to deal with said people, shouldering their insults and jabs and disgust every day just because he and Louis walk each other to and from lessons. They no longer eat dinner together, because the Gryffindors boo any Slytherin who approaches their table, and if Harry sits with Louis his legs get kicked black and blue.

   It’s neither of their faults. But there’s nobody else to blame so Louis keeps apologising, just hoping to delay the day when Harry inevitably gets fed up and stops hanging out with him. ‘I’m really sorry.’

   Thankfully, Harry turns back to him and affords him a small smile. ‘S’OK.’

   But he doesn’t snuggle up to him again, and the rest of the journey is spent largely in silence, save for Zayn and Niall’s small fanboy freakout when they find a particularly rare Chocolate Frog collector’s card.

 

*

A week after the first challenge of the Triwizard Tournament (and the subsequent announcement of the impeding Yule Ball), Niall throws a party in the Hufflepuff common room, ostensibly to celebrate the fact that Cedric _would_ have won if Harry Potter hadn’t muscled his stupid, famous face in, a slogan he’s taken the liberty of displaying on a banner above the buffet he and Zayn begged off the House Elves.

   Obviously Zayn, Louis and Harry aren’t technically supposed to be here. But they’ve been sneaking into each other’s dormitories since second year for sleepovers, and by now the various portraits have learnt to live with it.

   The same can hardly be said for the Hufflepuffs themselves, who are sweet but fiercely tight-knit, who hold the Ravenclaws in contempt for their obsession with grades, hate the Gryffindors for forever one-upping them in achievement, and are straight up scared of the Slytherins.

   Accordingly, Louis and Harry are making themselves as small as possible, huddled up in a corner watching Niall pour alcopops down Zayn’s throat. Harry’s sitting on his lap. Louis isn’t sure why but he’s not complaining. Harry smells nice, like apples and cinnamon, and he’s got his back against Louis’s chest and Louis swears their heartbeats have synced up. He wouldn’t be surprised if they beat permanently in time with each other by now.

   Things have been a little difficult this year, even not counting the incident on the train. Hectic work schedules and less classwork in pairs have resulted in them not hanging out as much. Louis doesn’t think it bothers Harry too much – whenever he sees him he’s surrounded by smiley, fit Gryffindor friends – but he’s been very clingy lately in the rare time they spend together.

   As for Louis, he’s coping. He hangs out with the handful of Slytherins who still see worth in his eyes, grimacing and sneering along with them as they discuss the weak spots of various teachers and ask each other questions like _Would you rather die by burning or drowning?_ They’re not actively bad people, he knows that, but they try to be and it gets to him too, he can feel it. Tonight he barely managed to break away from them, and when a third-year Hufflepuff gave him a terrified look as he crawled through the entrance to her common room, his first instinct was to snarl at her.

   But Harry’s with him now and that’s what matters. ‘Missed you, curly,’ he murmurs, winding one of Harry’s locks around his index finger.

   ‘Missed you too,’ he hears his friend’s quiet reply.

   He’s been quiet all night, come to think of it, even though they’ve been sitting here essentially out of sight for almost an hour. Normally this would mean ceaseless muttered secrets and stories and quips – but tonight Harry’s heart doesn’t seem in it. ‘You tired, mate?’

   Harry nods, leaning into him a little more heavily. ‘Kind of.’

   A little desperate now, determined to cheer his friend up, Louis brings up what he hopes will be a light, easy topic. ‘So who you gonna ask to the Yule Ball?’ Harry must have multiple offers of his own by now, he thinks. This is surely going to be a cheerful conversation.

   But Harry just sighs, and gives a small shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ Pause, and he turns his head to look at him. He’s smiling but it doesn’t look genuine, and his eyes are a little too shiny. ‘You?’

   Louis was hoping he wouldn’t have to volunteer his own information. ‘Umm…just a girl from my year.’

   Toby had set Louis up with his sister, Eleanor, a few days ago. They’d gone to Hogsmeade and awkwardly sipped Butterbeer staring at their reflections in their spoons until Louis figured he couldn’t put it off any longer and mumbled ‘So do you want to go to the ball with me?’ She’d given the matter a moment’s thought, as if this hadn’t been the plan all along, and then said yes.

   Harry’s reaction is odd, to say the least. He blinks three times, and then shifts, sliding off of Louis’s lap and into the space on the sofa beside him. He’s not looking at him anymore. ‘Right. Well that narrows it down.’

   Louis doesn’t know what he means. Is he being sarcastic, or did he think – could he have possibly thought – that Louis would have asked a boy?

   ‘Her name’s Eleanor,’ Louis says awkwardly. He knows his face is burning.

   ‘Is she hot?’ Harry asks, his voice flat.

   ‘Yes, she is,’ Louis shoots back, oddly offended. Does Harry think he wouldn’t be able to get a hot girl to go with him? ‘Do you have a problem or something?’

   ‘No,’ Harry mutters. ‘Why on earth would I have a problem?’

   ‘Because you’re acting weird.’ Louis touches his knee, trying to calm himself down long enough to slip back into concern. He wants to find out why Harry’s sad. He wants to make him smile. ‘Has something happened? If anyone’s been hurting you –’

   ‘No one’s hurting me,’ Harry says abruptly, and then he stands. ‘No one you’re thinking of anyway.’

   Then he walks away.

   Dazed, Louis doesn’t move for nearly ten minutes.

   In that ten minutes, four things happen:

   1. A crowd suddenly forms around Zayn and Niall, and a roar goes up in response to something that Louis can’t see.

   2. The crowd breaks apart just as suddenly, and Louis catches a single glimpse of his two best friends snogging before they do the same.

   3. Zayn spots Louis on his own, rolls his eyes to the back of his head, points his wand at where Harry’s standing by the buffet and mouths _Imperio._

   4. Instantly, Harry’s eyes glaze over. He wanders over to Zayn who gives him a slightly distasteful look, as if already regretting his decision, but then whispers something into his ear and points over to Louis, before going right back to snogging Niall.

   Louis’s so confused by this point he thinks his head might explode. Niall’s straight, as far as he knows, and Zayn’s shown so little interest in anyone who’s ever thrown themselves at him that Louis assumed he was asexual.

   As for Zayn casting one of the three Unforgiveable Curses Mad-Eye Moody demonstrated to them the other day in DADA…that’s completely insane. Niall told them that Zayn had been so distraught at the sight of the spider writhing and twitching in pain under the Cruciatus Curse that he’d walked right out of the room. Why on earth would he utilise one now? Why on Harry?

   But all of that flies right out of his head when Harry flings himself down beside him, takes his face in his hands, and kisses him.

   White light and fireworks explode behind Louis’s eyes when their lips connect, and he physically feels himself melt, like soft ice-cream left on a summer sidewalk. Harry kisses like he knows how, and more than that like he _needs_ to just to breathe, and Louis’s lived without kissing his entire life but right now he has no idea how he ever went one second without Harry’s mouth against his.

   But Harry’s not Harry right now, and if Zayn thinks he’s being funny with this then he’s got another think coming. Louis pushes Harry away with as much force as he can bring himself to use – but before he can even catch his breath Harry’s staring into his eyes, blue against green, blurting out ‘I like you I mean I really really like you and I have since third year or maybe longer I don’t know and you probably don’t like me too but the only person I’d ever want to go the Yule Ball with is you so _please_ ask me, please please ask me.’

   Shell-shocked, Louis glances back at Zayn just as he flicks his wand once more. When Louis looks back the spell’s obviously broken, and Harry’s gone as white as a sheet, clapping his hand to his mouth.

   Louis reaches out – but he’s already running away.

   What the actual fucking hell? ‘Zayn!’ Louis yells.

   ‘What?’ he bellows back. To Louis’s surprise, he sounds genuinely hammered. Zayn doesn’t normally drink, and Louis hadn’t realised Niall had managed to get that much down him. He feels a little jealous: Louis’s never persuaded him farther than a glass of mead at Christmas.

   Drunk or not though, he’s not off the hook. ‘What _was_ that; what did you do to him!’

   ‘I couldn’t fucking take you tiptoeing around each other anymore so I told him to tell you exactly how he felt about you! Take it or leave it, Tomlinson!’

   And then he returns to Niall.

   Louis doesn’t want to believe him, but he doesn’t really have a choice. Zayn doesn’t lie.

   Which means that Harry likes him.

   Louis touches his lips cautiously, still swollen from the kiss. Harry. Likes him.

   For a second, all the warmth in the world seems to centre itself directly in his heart, like a pocket of light.

   But then he comes to his senses. He and Harry can’t work. Harry’s a boy. And worse, he’s a Gryffindor. They’d be eaten alive. Even though Louis has to admit to himself that, if it were his choice, he’d probably marry Harry Styles tomorrow, least of all because it rhymes.

   Now all he has to do is to find him, tell him the first bit, and hope to God that they can still be friends.

   And maybe kiss just one more time.

   For science.

 

*

Louis catches up with Harry outside the Gryffindor portrait. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms folded while the Fat Lady berates him: ‘Are you coming in or not?’ He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s got his eyes tight shut, breathing heavily. If Louis didn’t want so badly not to believe it, he’d swear he was trying not to cry. ‘Harry?’

   He starts, his eyes flying open. When he sees Louis he goes bright red. ‘I…look, Zayn said…’

   ‘Zayn told me what he said,’ Louis replies gently. ‘So just tell me the truth. Did you mean all of that?’

   ‘Yes,’ Harry mutters, his fists clenching in his sleeves. ‘And you kissed me back,’ he adds quickly, throwing it out like a weapon. ‘So.’

   ‘I didn’t kiss you back,’ Louis counters hotly, his hackles rising. How dare Harry try to turn this on him. ‘You scared the crap out of me, which was the only reason I didn’t push you away, but I did _not_ kiss you back.’

   The corner of Harry’s lip quirks upward, amused but sharp. ‘You’re one of those, then. Fine. But if you’re gonna put this all on me then I don’t want to hang out with you anymore. Power imbalances and all that. I can’t be around you forever paranoid you’re going to use this against me.’

   ‘Harry –’

   ‘Night, Lou. _Hippogriff,’_ he adds to the Fat Lady, who swings open with a huff.

   But when Louis tries to follow, already opening his mouth to argue, she immediately slams shut again, even before Harry can get inside. The curly-haired boy steps back, shocked. ‘Hey!’

   ‘You’re not coming in with him,’ she decrees. ‘Either he leaves or you both do.’

   ‘You always let me in before!’ Louis protests.

   ‘You were children before. Intra-house fraternising is inappropriate past a certain age. _You,’_ she tells Louis accusatorily, ‘belong in the dungeons, with the rest of the Slytherins. Salazar was a fascist and a tyrant and you’re all just like him.’

   ‘Don’t you dare speak to my friend like that,’ Harry snaps, before Louis can even retort.

   She raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought you weren’t friends anymore?’

   Harry doesn’t dignify her with a response, taking Louis’s hand and storming away.

   They end up in an empty classroom on the fourth floor, having just about avoided the swinging shadow of Filch’s lamp, and with the door firmly locked Harry faces Louis once more, feet firmly planted, hands on his hips. ‘Tell me the truth. Is it the gay thing or the Gryffindor thing.’

   ‘You don’t know if it’s anything,’ Louis says stubbornly, although in the tiny room with Harry right up in his face, there’s only one tiny thread of willpower stopping him from crashing his mouth against the other boy’s once more. ‘Maybe I just don’t like you.’

   Harry gives him a look.

   Louis breaks. ‘Fine. Both. I can’t go to the ball with you, OK? I…want to. But I can’t.’

   ‘If you want to then let’s go,’ Harry says simply. ‘You’ve got dress robes and an arm to lead me with, don’t you?’

   ‘That’s not the point.’

   ‘Why do you care so much about what people think? No one’s going to hurt you; they’re terrified of you.’

   ‘I’m worried about them hurting _you,_ Haz.’

   ‘Well I’m not. And if I’m not then you’ve got no reason to be.’

   ‘No offence, Harry, but you wouldn’t know danger if it stabbed you in the face. Remember that time in third year when you tried to find out if Professor Lupin was a werewolf?’

   ‘I was right, wasn’t I?’

   ‘Yes, and you went galloping into the Forbidden Forest and you nearly got fucking killed.’

   ‘Louis.’ Harry takes his hands – and wow, Louis’s never really appreciated how much bigger than his they are. ‘I can look after myself.’

   For a moment, Louis stays silent. His heart is aching because God, he really wants to go the ball with Harry. He wants to thread their fingers together and slow-dance in the floodlights and sip spiked fruit juice curled up together…and he really, really wants to kiss him again. Harry’s eyes are glowing in the gloom and Louis knows he’s still pink and flustered and it would just fit, to make out with his best friend in this place he’s come to think of as his second home.

   But he can’t put him in danger. He’s put this boy through enough pain in his life already. So he presses his forehead against Harry’s and says it in the same sort of tone as you would whisper _I love you,_ to soften the blow. ‘I can’t go with you, Harry.’

   Harry breathes out, a sound of resignation even as he presses back. ‘I know. I shouldn’t have asked. Can we just go back to when I kissed you and forget about all the other stupid stuff I said?’

   Louis nods. That actually sounds perfect.

   So they kiss again, sewn tight like buttons on a coat, and when Louis pulls away he murmurs ‘I really like you too’ and Harry laughs but it sounds like a sob too and they keep kissing, on and on and on inside the cold, dark night.

 

*

Louis goes to the Yule Ball with Eleanor. Harry takes a Gryffindor girl called Cara he’s close with, and Zayn and Niall go stag side-by-side, ostensibly because Niall has a crush on Ginny but Neville got there first, and Hermione’s the only girl Zayn gets on with and she chose Viktor Krum. About halfway through the night, though, they disappear into the bushes and return with mussed hair and blown eyes, Niall’s hand creeping into Zayn’s back pocket (Louis and Harry have tried to confront them about their new habit of making out while drunk, but they’ve shrugged it off as ‘platonic enhancement’. Or Zayn has anyway. Niall just shrugged and said ‘S’a laugh, innit?’).

   Louis notes their return with careful detachment, Eleanor’s head on his shoulder as they slow-dance. Then he returns to watching Harry, who’s doing some kind of experimental tango with Cara which they’re both cracking up too hard to even try to do properly.

   Harry wanted Louis to at least go to the ball alone so that they could hang out, even if they couldn’t dance, but Louis knew better than to tick off his friends. Their respect for his blue eyes only went so far, and Toby would have never forgiven him for blowing off his sister.

   Eleanor digs her nails into his back. ‘You’re stepping on my foot,’ she hisses, and he apologises.

   Harry glances over at him, as he’s been doing every five minutes on the dot, and gives him a small, sad smile. Louis smiles back, as reassuringly as he can.

   When Harry melts away upstairs, he makes his excuses to Eleanor and follows him, and halfway up the stairs they stand, Harry leaning against the banister and Louis as close as he can get without touching, both of them hiding their faces behind their fringes whenever a laughing couple or crying teenager passes them. Under the soft, swirling music, they whisper what they want, for no one else’s ears but each other’s.

   ‘I want to hold your hand,’ Louis breathes, his finger outstretched but barely brushing Harry’s open palm.

   Harry blushes. ‘I…I want to dip you in a dance.’

   ‘I want to put my hands in your hair.’

   ‘I want to kiss you.’

   All of a sudden, they seem to be separate from the world. A glittering bubble surrounds them; a circle of quiet, still safety. One girl walks right between them without seeming to notice a thing.

   Louis looks up just in time to see Dumbledore’s back as he glides regally down the stairs.

   ‘Oh my God,’ Harry murmurs, reaching out to touch the edge of the force field, his hand stopped by the forces that hold it together no matter how hard he strains.

   ‘Haz, did he put a cloaking charm on us?’

   ‘I think…I think he made us invisible.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

   ‘Maybe this is why,’ Harry says softly, and then he puts his hands on Louis’s waist and pulls him in roughly, leaving Louis time to do nothing but grip the back of his neck before they’re kissing like the world’s about to end, or like it already has and they’re all that’s left, in this magic, shimmering circle.

   How did it take so long for them to get to this point? Louis wonders dreamily as Harry’s hands slip inside his shirt. Why didn’t he jump on Harry the second he said he liked boys? What could have been stopping him?

   But then the bubble bursts with a brief shudder of warning and the cold of the night hits them, tired teachers extinguishing the torches around the entrance to the hall, and he pushes Harry away like lightning, just like he did on the train, and wipes his mouth before anyone can see the traces of his friend glistening on his lips.

   Harry slumps a little, his hands gripping the banister behind him as if to steady himself. He looks drained, and scruffy, and young. Too young to be shoved in the chest by a boy he only wanted to kiss.

   ‘I’m sorry,’ Louis says, but he doesn’t dare touch him to prove it. All he can give him are words, and what good are they in a world where the wrong one could kill you? Besides, he’s said them too much for them to have any meaning left. He’s been sorry since the day he met Harry Styles; since the day he was sorted into Slytherin. ‘You deserve better than this.’

   ‘No I don’t,’ Harry replies, but Louis can’t help thinking he looks uncertain. He notices his glance back into the hall, where their dates are waiting.

   ‘You should get back to Cara,’ he points out, before Harry says it first and hurts him more. He attempts a joke. ‘Maybe you’ll have better luck with her, huh?’

   Harry glares at him. ‘Just because I’m bi doesn’t mean I kiss all my fucking friends, Lou.’

   Louis’s heart constricts. ‘I didn’t mean –’

   But Harry relents instantly. ‘I know, I know.’ He runs a hand through his hair, and it looks so soft that it makes Louis ache a little inside to touch it again. ‘No. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’

   Louis hesitates. He doesn’t know how to ask whether it will be over tomorrow; whether five minutes in a bubble was all Harry wanted from him; whether he’s ruined it.

   But then Harry pulls him into a hug, burying his face in his neck like he always does. ‘I really like you,’ he mumbles fiercely. ‘I need you to always know that. I don’t care about anyone else, and I want whatever you’re OK with. I’m going to see you in Potions tomorrow and then we’re going to go somewhere quiet and make out until your legs feel like mine do right now. Alright?’

   ‘Alright,’ Louis says automatically, blood thudding in his head like war drums. What else can he say? It’s Harry. It’s Harry and he still wants to kiss him.

   Louis stays where he is for a little while after Harry scampers off, and then walks slowly and slightly dazedly back to his dormitory, falling into his bed and asleep in seconds, heart still pounding, fuelling his dreams of sprinting down dark-green meadows straight into the sun.

   And he forgets all about Eleanor.


End file.
